An Ocean Apart
by aki.ari
Summary: KuroKen Month #3: Distance - My hand is a poor substitute for what I want from you.


_**An Ocean Apart**_

 _ **Theme: Distance**_

A fool is nothing but a fool no matter how you look at it. You can say it's love or devotion, but the one left waiting is always a fool. Not because he loves, but because he waits. Because he waits and does nothing but wait. Like an instrument put up on a shelf, lying quietly staring at the ceiling searching for rhinestone stars inside a bleak and unsightly room. No matter how long it stares the roof does not give way and the door remains unyielding. Countless hours will pass by before its owner will return to rescue it from this lonely monotony. Kenma was a complete and utter fool. At least that's what he told himself as he scrolled idly through the pictures he had of Kuroo on his phone.

As far as Kenma was concerned, whoever said _distance makes the heart grow fonder_ was a complete moron. All distance did was put a knot in your chest, and give you all kinds of nervous ulcers from anxiety and longing and all that other stupid romantic crap that people used to write flowery poetry about before there was Facebook, Netflix and unlimited cellphone texting plans.

It wasn't like he was in a different universe, Kuroo called twice a day and he texted regularly. But that kind of thing, far from making the distance easier, only caused the ache to grow. It was like holding a canteen of water out to a man dying for thirst in the desert and saying "I have water but you can't have it." It's so damn close but you can't touch it and you thirst and you thirst until you're dry and still you thirst and hope because it's right fucking there. Kenma hated it. It would have been easier for Kuroo to say he was going to do some missionary work in the Congo where there was no cell reception and he could only check in once a month from a radio tower at the top of some mountain fort just to let Kenma know he was okay. But like this, the constant teasing flickers of Kuroo in his vision, of his voice left as a residual echo long after one of their phone calls had ended… like this it was too much.

After shutting the blinds to block out the midday sun, Kenma returned to his bed. Anxious no matter where he went – school, practice, the part-time job at the convenience store he'd taken on last month to save up to move in with Kuroo when he graduated from Nekoma in the spring – if it wasn't absolutely necessary, Kenma would stay in his room, having become littered with all the traces of Kuroo he could fine: old volleyball magazines, the dirty deflated volleyball they had played with when they were children, the couple shirts Kuroo had left behind from impromptu sleepovers and loose photographs that had been developed at some time or another. Kenma never bothered with that sort of thing, but Kuroo assured him it was different having real tangible copies as opposed to the digital copies on your phone.

It was only now that Kuroo was no longer around to invite himself in to escort Kenma to school, or to hang out on weekends that there wasn't any practice, did Kenma understand the importance of tangible traces of your loved ones. Something to hold, something to caress and tape to the wall beside your pillow, to stare at even when the battery on your phone died from neglecting to charge it while watching those video recordings from the last training camp you had together, or the school festival where your class did a cosplay cafe and you never said so but he looked damn good in that police uniform.

If Kenma had to describe it, this feeling that caused him to wake up sweating in the middle of the night, looking for a fix, for a glimpse of that sly Cheshire grin and stupid bedhead, this insatiable craving was withdrawal. He was addicted to Kuroo, and he needed him. The simplest things would distract him for a time, his games a happy escape for when he could manage to focus on them, but after a while the relapse would hit, and it would hit hard. The want. The desire. That cheerful voice on the other end of the phone would sensuously curl into his mind and Kenma's heart would race, head pounding in frustrated tension. And when it was gone he felt like he would die. _More_. He wanted more and nothing else mattered. Nothing was worse than going cold turkey after all.

It wasn't his choice. Then again, what choice do you really have when you're in love? Some people look for conversation, some look for adventure, others look for sex, but to say that one looks for love would be a gross misunderstanding of the nature of love. Love wasn't something that could be sought and found. It was just something that happened.

Being in love is like taking drugs. When you're high, you feel great. When you come down, the depression is like getting hit by a freight train – you're lying gasping and trying to patch yourself together and even if you do there's this all over persistently throbbing ache. It was a sketchy feeling, like grey drizzly days – not so light that it was practically inconsequential, but not so heavy that you were left drenched to the core, just enough to dampen, to yield the slightest discomfort.

Kenma had looked it up. When the feelings had first started cropping up, he looked it up, wanting to know what was wrong with him, because surely something had to be wrong with him. The same region of the brain which showed activity when one was in love also became active when you feel the rush of cocaine, said one study. But the thing was that romantic love was much more than a cocaine high. At the very least you come down from cocaine.

It hit him like an LSD flashback. They were walking in the snow, Kenma was bundled up in Kuroo's scarf, only eyes visible between it and his hood. When the temperature began to drop towards evening a warm hand bigger than his own took hold gentle yet firm of his chilled hand, tucking it into the warmth of his jacket pocket, a grin splitting his features. They talked about a subject Kenma had long forgotten, though the emotion of that time still remained: contentment. So vivid he could almost be there again despite the scorching summer heat straining against the blinds.

All Kenma wanted to do was let go of that hand. Just until Kuroo got back. He didn't like being dragged around by memories and fantasies. Just until Kuroo got back, couldn't he be allowed to live unhindered by these aching thoughts? Was it only him who felt this way?

The ventral tegmental area of the brain lights up under an MRI scan when someone is in love, apparently. This area is the brain's reward system and produces dopamine, a neurochemical girt that stimulates pleasure in order to reinforce certain behaviours. Like cocaine, love truly could become addictive because it produces high levels of dopamine, which makes it more tolerable to the user over time and henceforth leaves them craving more. And how long had he been nurturing feelings for Kuroo? Nothing short of seven years. A long time to foster an addiction.

The phone's ringing. It's Kuroo, but Kenma doesn't want to pick up. He's feeling bad. The calls come at the worst times, always when he'd almost managed to pull himself together into some semblance of a healthy self-sufficient and properly functioning individual. The calls made Kenma feel so alone, unable to see him, talk to him like they used to – staying up all night cuddling.

He picks up.

"Hey Kenma, how're you doing?"

"Fine."

He says he's fine though he most certainly is not. Craving someone every waking hour, and dreaming about them in every sleeping moment, needing them like water to chapped lips and air to starved lungs.

"How's the team? You guys had a game the other day right?"

"Yeah, everyone's good. We won."

Kenma leans over the side of the bed, capturing a few random photographs from the sea strewn across his bedroom floor, looking at the images as he listened to Kuroo's voice.

"I miss you so much, damn I wish I could be there."

"Me too."

The parts of the brain that light up when love gratification is not met are the ventral tegmental area, the nucleus accumbens and orbitofrontal/prefrontal cortex – areas linked to the feelings of craving – and the insular cortex and the anterior cingulated – areas responsible for the feeling of physical pain and agony.

"Ah shit, sorry Kenma, I got to go. I'll call again later."

"Alright."

The passion associated with romantic love is a goal-oriented motivated state rather than a specific emotion. It's a drive that requires action, not just a feeling that settles. Kenma wanted very much to pursue that drive all the way to where Kuroo was.

"Kuroo~" Kenma whimpered rolling onto his back, the photographs scattered about the sheets, some crumpling beneath him as he moved. He flipped his phone open again, staring at his home screen, a picture of Kuroo without his shirt after practice in the change rooms, half glancing over his shoulder to where Lev had called his name. Sometimes the idiot did something useful, Kenma thought as his golden eyes raked over the image, the defined delts and traps… the elegant curve of Kuroo's spine as it dipped past the waistband of his briefs… the relaxed questioning expression…

Switching the phone to his left hand, Kenma slid his right into his shorts, fingers curling around his growing arousal.

' _His arms are so strong. If he pushed me down, what kind of face would he make? Hungry? Relaxed? Smug? If it's Kuroo it would probably be smug,'_ Kenma thought as he began sliding his hand up and down around his length.

' _Ne Kuroo, how would you call my name? You'd say it like that wouldn't you? That sort of teasing sing-song tone that make it seem like you're not as serious as you are, when we both know you're really just trying to keep calm so you won't hurt me.'_

Kenma smeared the precum over his slit with his thumb, soft pants accompanying the lewd squishing and squelching sounds.

' _You'd kiss me, and lick up my neck and as I breathe in, you'd groan that strained wanton rumble, wanting to let loose and just enter me.'_

"Ah, haa, unn, Ku…roo," Kenma breathed, the phone shaking in his trembling hand as he worked himself to full hardness. Rub. Rub. Rub.

' _You'd stretch me slowly. Finger slick with lube. One finger first. Then two. Scissoring, curling, twisting.'_

Kenma bit his lip as he moved his hand lower, pushing a finger past the tight ring of muscles.

' _And I'd whimper and beg for you to quit teasing, but you'd continue until you were sure I was loose enough.'_

"Aah nngh hah," Kenma moaned as he slid a second finger in pushing in as far as he could reach and curling. "Gha!"

' _You'd pull your fingers out and position at my entrance, and start sinking in to me. But even though you stretched me properly, even though I'm leaking lube, you're big and it hurts as you push in. Inch by inch deeper and deeper you'd sink until you bottomed out in me, your balls resting against my ass. And you'd sit there, still, waiting. And you'd groan as my muscles clamp around you trying to get used to the intrusion. You'd wait. You'd wait until I'm ready even though you look so strained holding back.'_

"Mmngh," Kenma mewled as he began thrusting his fingers in, rubbing against his prostate, breaths coming in short little stuttered gasps.

' _You'd thrust your dick into me. Churning my insides. Filling me up. Rocking me until I couldn't stand it anymore. I'd wrap my arms around your neck, my legs around your hips…'_

Kenma's golden irises dilated as he stared at the screen, meeting the photograph Kuroo's gaze. Bringing the phone to his mouth he licked the screen shamelessly, saliva clinging to the device as he panted in time with the desperate thrusts and twists of his fingers.

' _Ngh, Kuroo~ I want to cum! I'd beg and you'd grin that sexy grin, sweat on your brow you'd say you're close too. Your thrusts would become rough and sloppy, the bed rocking and creaking beneath us. When you ask, I'd whimper for you to cum inside me!'_

"Kuroo~" Kenma pressed harder against his prostate mewling and writhing atop the sheets.

' _And with a final series of hard thrusts you demand in that sex rough voice to cum for you. I'd grunt your name and cum, spattering all over our abdomens, my muscles tightening around you as you stilled the deepest in you could reach and you'd cum, hot semen mixing with the lube and dribbling down my thighs as you pulled out with a squelching plop.'_

"Haa haa haa ahhh!" Kenma's hand trembled the phone slipping from his grip as he came, body jerking, cum spattering across his stomach, and some of the photographs he was lying on.

Kenma lay dazed for a few moments, sheets and body a mess, airily thinking he'd have to clean everything before his folks got home. Glancing down at the photographs, erotic images of Kuroo's face spattered with cum, Kenma whimpered in want.

"Kuroo~"

It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. He wanted the real thing. He wanted Kuroo touching him and kissing him, and screwing him into the sheets. He missed Kuroo's scent and the taste of hot skin under his tongue. Kenma hated it. This distance. This waiting. This yearning.

 _End_

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A/N: Well wasn't that fun? This is my third installment for #kurokenmonth on tumblr! While fluff is nice, somehow this kind of thing is a lot easier to write. No not the masturbation, I'm talking about the feelings of longing. Angst is my total specialty. Sorry Kenma, hope you get to see Kuroo soon ^^; Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it. Next up will be the theme cats, and I have a pretty quirky idea for that, so please look forward to it. You can check out my fanfiction tumblr for updates on what I'm working on and my general blog for sketches and stuff (links in my profile).

As always thanks for your time, all comments are very much welcomed and appreciated :)


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